Like most churches on the Marsh it was much too big for its parish, and if the entire population of Brodnyx and Pedlinge had flocked into it, it would not have been full.  This made Joanna and Ellen all the more conspicuous—­they were alone in their great horse-box of a pew, except for many prayer books and hassocks—­There were as many hassocks in Brodnyx church as there were sheep on the Brodnyx innings.  Joanna, as usual, behaved very devoutly, and did not look about her.  She had an immense respect for the Church, and always followed the service word for word in her huge calf-bound prayer book, expecting Ellen to do the same—­an expectation which involved an immense amount of scuffling and angry whispering in their pew.

However, though her eyes were on her book, she was proudly conscious that everyone else’s eyes were on her.  Even the rector must have seen her—­as indeed from his elevated position on the bottom deck of the pulpit he could scarcely help doing—­and his distraction was marked by occasional stutters and the intrusion of an evening Collect.  He was a nervous, deprecating little man, terribly scared of his flock, and ruefully conscious of his own shortcomings and the shortcomings of his church.  Visiting priests had told him that Brodnyx church was a disgrace, with its false stresses of pew and pulpit and the lion and the unicorn dancing above the throne of the King of kings.  They said he ought to have it restored.  They did not trouble about where the money was to come from, but Mr. Pratt knew he could not get it out of his congregation, who did not like to have things changed from the manner of their fathers—­indeed there had been complaints when he had dislodged the owls that had nested under the gallery from an immemorial rector’s day.

The service came to an end with the singing of a hymn to an accompaniment of grunts and wheezes from an ancient harmonium and the dropping of pennies and threepenny bits into a wooden plate.  Then the congregation hurried out to the civilities of the churchyard.

From outside, Brodnyx Church looked still more Georgian and abandoned.  Its three aisles were without ornament or architecture; there was no tower, but beside it stood a peculiar and unexplained erection, shaped like a pagoda, in three tiers of black and battered tar-boarding.  It had a slight cant towards the church, and suggested nothing so much as a disreputable Victorian widow, in tippet, mantle and crinoline, seeking the support of a stone wall after a carouse.

In the churchyard, among the graves, the congregation assembled and talked of or to Joanna.  It was noticeable that the women judged her more kindly than the men.

“She can’t help her taste,” said Mrs. Vine, “and she’s a kind-hearted thing.”

“If you ask me,” said Mrs. Prickett, “her taste ain’t so bad, if only she’d have things a bit quieter.  But she’s like a child with her yallers and greens.”